


Repentance

by winryrockbae



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: and legit keeps trying to fuckign die, can we all just love him for five seconds?, having a lot of feelings about sylvain and how he's actually a deep goddamn character, this is some sad boy hours right here, who has a lot of shit going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 06:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winryrockbae/pseuds/winryrockbae
Summary: It’s as if the words are playing on a loop. A sense of familiarity washes over him with each syllable and as his friends fret he will merely chuckle and agree. A shallow promise, one that they all know he won’t adhere to come the next battle.A life spent bearing the burden of a crest is hardly a life worth living.





	Repentance

**Author's Note:**

> having some emotions and i had to write them out here i won't apologize for writing this instead of updating my other story.

“You’re too reckless.” 

“What were you thinking?!” 

“Don’t do that again, moron.” 

It’s as if the words are playing on a loop. A sense of familiarity washes over him with each syllable and as his friends fret he will merely chuckle and agree. A shallow promise, one that they all know he won’t adhere to come the next battle. 

They think it’s because he’s being chivalrous. Or maybe they think he really is that stupid. Chasing the coattails of glory in an attempt to exceed the expectations set upon him. His efforts were to be commended and bring respect back to house Gautier after Miklan’s untimely betrayal and demise. 

“Seriously, Sylvain! Stop doing that!” Ingrid’s words are shrill and they cut through his pounding headache. It’s hard to look at her with her cheeks red and puffed out in anger. Her entire being is akin to that of an angry cat. Exhausting. Her emotions are deserved, but exhausting.

He’d caught the blunt side of an axe against his temple in his attempt to cover her back. The stars he’d seen on the battlefield were nothing compared to the sheer satisfaction that the pain had brought him. 

Because he knew he that deserved it. 

Since the day he was born, he’d been blessed to live a soft life. Miklan had everything about what he had known ripped out from underneath of him, and from the very first day that Sylvain’s life became that of love and light - Miklan’s had become the opposite. 

Abandoned and ignored, the older son set to inherit nothing simply because their mother had spread her legs again and this time borne a child with a Crest. 

And it festered within the elder. Becoming something horrible and ugly that reared a beastly head whenever Sylvain was unfortunate enough to wander into its line of sight. 

The first known incident happened before Sylvain was able to take more than a few wobbly steps on little legs. He hardly recalls how his brother had forced his head under the bathwater, but his mother’s panicked shrieks would always be clear in his memory. 

She coddled him extra after that, showering him with gifts and an excess of love that never seemed to go past the surface. Always hugging and kissing him, but never seeing him as more than the heir. Never looking at him as if he were her son. He was only their legacy. A tool to continue to hold power in the north. 

Every time he came home with a bump or a bruise, she would coo at him to allow her to fix him and make him feel better. Lips pressed sickly sweet against his injuries with the assurance that a mother’s love could make it all better. It had turned his stomach. He had seen her usher his brother away to the servants when he came home with a split lip and a bruised eye. The woman hadn’t even spared her eldest a second glance. 

It was vile. 

Even as a child, Sylvain knew that his brother’s hatred was justified. He could hear the whispers, he knew that Miklan heard them too. It was only natural that there would be a breaking point, a singular moment in which the fragile bond between the two brothers was broken beyond repair. When it happened, it was so seemingly insignificant. There were visitors to the estate and as both children stood there, only one was introduced. The other was brushed aside for the rest of the evening and forced to watch everyone fawn over the brother that came after him. 

The next day, Sylvain was pushed down a well. And he knew that he deserved it. Each cut and scrape that sliced at him as he tumbled down against the hard stones felt like repentance. The time he spent shivering in a foot of cold water was what he deserved for being born with a crest. The wails of his mother and the bribes of is father, trying to get him to admit that it was Miklan were only part of his sentence. 

The cycle continued on for years, the only ones who truly knew were Felix and Ingrid. In their own way each had tried to get him to tell, it was clear that they were worried. But he knew that it would mean something terrible for the brother that was already hurting so much. That had emotional wounds so raw and angry that he tried to suffocate his younger sibling with a pillow nearly every night. 

But Sylvain kept his mouth shut until the day that he was forced to take his only brother’s life with his own weapon. 

The cavalier had expected something more than the emptiness that had consumed him as he looked upon Miklan’s body. His horse nickered beside him and he absently tangled his bloodied fingers in the white mane and squeezed. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, holding onto his steed as if the animal would anchor him to the ground. Hold him up should his knees give out. Give him a place to hide his face should the tears flow. But nothing happened. He had simply stood, feeling empty. 

“Sylvain. Get some rest.” Dimitri’s voice floats towards him through his muddled thoughts. He’s so goddamn tired. Everything hurts. But he’s used to it. 

“Send a girl up here, yeah?” Crooked smile takes up residence upon his features as one eye cracks open. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been drifting off, dreaming of lost time. “A real cute one.” 

“So she can sit and watch you sleep? Or perhaps admire the crack in the side of your head.” Felix scoffed from next to Ingrid. “Take care not to let anymore of your brain leak out of your thick skull. You don’t have much left to lose.” 

The three of them shuffle out, Ingrid taking a moment to fluff his pillows with a whisper threateningly about how she’d better not find him with a girl’s thighs wrapped around his face. She pauses at the door, leaning against the frame with her lips curved into a frown. “Please, stop doing this.” 

“Right, of course.” A lazy wave of his hand as the door clicks shut and he’s left alone. “Whatever you need to hear, Ingrid.” 

He’s not going to stop pushing forward. Using himself as a shield for those he cares about. They only think they care about him, yet they would be fine without him. But what if something happened to the Professor? Or Dimitri? Or any of his friends that he could have prevented? 

He learned at a young age that his life wasn’t his own. He was simply a name on a family tree. Only loved for something he couldn’t control. The pain that laced through his head and turned the easy smirk he’d worn in front of his friends into a grimace reminded him of that. 

Now that Miklan was gone and no longer punishing him, Sylvain had to figure out ways to make himself pay. 

After all, if his own brother hadn’t cared about his life, why should he?

**Author's Note:**

> deadass want to write a super self indulgent fic with my oc and sylvain because i really can't get enough of this sad little boi 
> 
> follow me on twitter @winryrockbae to request prompts/characters/pairings!!


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